Unspeakable
by AbandonWhisper
Summary: A late night's purposeful journey.An aimless boy.In Vergil's head is an abysmal void.Is it fate's interwoven threads that pull him back to a familiar face? What follows is indescribable,terrifying.Unspeakable.DxV
1. Do I know you?

Unspeakable

Chapter 1 : Do I know you?

Ok, disclaimer. I don't own Devil May Cry and the wonderful characters in it. But IF I did, I guarantee there will be no need for DxV paring ficcies anymore -evil smirk- But I do love Capcom any how, as long as those guys keep Vergil in one piece.

Author's notes: Oh yeah, there are a couple o things I'd like to point out. First of all; a Back Button all you homophobes, Capishe? The story starts off light, but the tension will build up, and BAM! You never know what might happen… So be warned, and don't embarrass yourself. And this fictional tale is set following DMC3, where Vergil ultimately yields to the dark side. But hey, he doesn't seem too evil here, does he? What's going on !

Italic like_ this _is Vergil's raw and direct thinking. Used for reminiscing as well.

Well, start scrolling down and let yours eyes dance on the words, let the images unroll.

-

-

His feet came to a halt in front of a curious bar named 'Bull's Eye'. Most of the shops were closed; quiet, latent, the streets of 66 Slum Avenue sleeping soundly under tonight's sky, the full Moon gracing it with an eerie glow. It must be late, but he had no sense of the time. No sense of anything. There was only this thirst that drove him on.

And the lone body that held some vague meanings for him was the emblem of the sky itself; the incandescent Moon against the backdrop of an endless ebony cloth. There were no stars, no haze. Forsaken and forlorn feelings shone onto him. _Yes,_ _empty but longing._

His thirst was once again reminded when he lowered his eyes onto the bar for a second time. Thirst, the sole human instinct that stopped him from going mad. Because in this blackness that kept threatening to engulf him whole, he knew of nothing, maddening nothing, but just that he had to drink, and so drink aplenty he would. It made him feel like it didn't matter if he did not know his own name, or even the reason for his existence, or why the hell he was sprawled across in front of some tower's ruins, feeling like dying from what seemed like an aeon of emptiness and defeat, taking hold of his being and crushing it mercilessly until he felt nothing. Until he was nothing.

But then…what was that tinge of something else left there amidst his hollowness? Only a glimmer in this oblivion, something so tender, something so warm; but it was indescribably sad, so very sad.

Whilst he took his first step towards the well- lighted door, aided only by the bar's brilliant red neon sign, a raging bull's head portrayed instead of the word, he thought of the builder he happened upon by chance on his initial unpromising wandering, and the words that were said to him.

-

'_Yeah, kid, all the shops are closed by now. But if ya really gotta quench y' thirst, tho, Bull's Eye of 66 Avenue is the place to be!' _The man, husky and with a roughly shaven face, had his arms crossed at his chest then, and he leaned over, grinning, _' and if ya ever feel that sumthin' else needs t' be satisfied, jes walk thru t' a little haven called Love Planet. And bam! I gurarantee ya 'll be staggered!'_

He thanked the man before he could continue his enthusiasm. To be honest, he could care less about 'love- whatever' or its 'guaranteed positive staggering'. Apart from the things that he needed, anything else meant nuisance. He had always acted in concurrence to this trait of his. Always.

_Well, except for one thing._

Wait a minute, how the hell could he possiblyknow these things?

Then as he turned to pace in the direction of his new destination, a voice of seconds ago was called after him.

'_Yo, kid! Go get sum rest or sumthin,' _a concerned look_, 'ya look beat, man.' _

-

It was quiet, except from the low hum of the distant traffic and the whirrs of the nearby machineries, the murmur of the mild wind. His boots broke that wonderful, monotonous silence in steady, crisp claps upon gritty cement as he caught a clump of loose hair strands and tugged it back. He paused briefly, his hand grasped at where he tugged back that mass. Standing there, he studied the stark silver tendrils closely. _Mine_? Never did it occur to him toexamine what Nature bestowed him with. While heading here, he'd caught glimpse of himself before; he'd notice his powerfully built chest underneath the clothing before, the legs that took his own weight with ease, the swiftness they could carry him, and his arms; their force! Earlier, drowned in confusion, his head hung low, he brought his palms down upon some large stone debris in frustration. And goodness! It shattered into little pieces!

But none of that mattered at this moment.

Vast black shadows cast off of towering buildings surrounded him, and he saw silver scatters of light from the street lamps on either side of the area. They were only a fleeting succession of blurred images when he rushed by.

A door stood before him. He stopped; jolted, before his hand could reach it. Something had disturbed him. A fleeting image. A haunted apparition in his mind. _White hair so alike my own. _It was when the door was pushed back did a distinct hint of pandemonium escape.

Suddenly, shouts and laughter and movements of any kind amalgamated into one big clatter as the door completely gave way, blasting and streaming out to numb him, mingling and fussy, where the sounds: the shrieks, the bawls, and the guffaws, all but added to the glamour of the place. The merriment. Blindingly vivid light bathed his body, he squinted his eyes, the sheer, pale blue orbs adjusting to the unexpectedly sudden change of light intensity. He stepped into Bull's Eye Bar.

-

At once, the interactions and the engagements infusing this place seemed to be diminishing slowly, then to stop altogether. Virtually all eyes had moved to rest upon him, staring and silent. He grinned._ What is this? A funeral passing? _He advanced with no inhibition, uninterested whatsoever in his large audience that was scattered everywhere he looked, over to the target of his eyes he moved; the liberator of this horrid, yet blessed yearning to drink - the bar itself.

Averting his mind from it, he tried not to think ahead: what would he do after the fluid had passed into his throat? What should he be thinking the moment it rushed against his tongue, caressing it gently, liquid flowing down in a cool sensation to satisfy delightfully? _Drink._ And as he graced the tavern with elegance of a tiger, proud and firm, the long azure leather coat that he was adorned in shimmered, flickered in the bright lights, while he caused it to billow like a ripple with his unbroken speed. One could have sworn that this stranger exuded the aura of condescension.

The saloon wasn't all that big, only a few steps lay between him and a great hard-wood bar. It was lacquered, with several stools sitting under its long rectangular table-top. With his arms rested on its cool surface, folded neatly, he stood upright, looking straight at a woman in her late 20s behind the bar. She smiled. Fine dark skin and grey expressive eyes. Her pitch-black hair curt short, a pixie cut. Fuzzy sounds began to rise again. It seemed they had just realised the embarrassment of them all gawking at this new arrival. But he did really look misplaced here. And everything resumed to its normal engagement, the clamours mounting as slowly as they went.

"Ah, a refreshing sight for sore eyes. What can I get you for, good-looking?"

"Water, is all I necessitate."

"Right… Just a glass of water?" she tilted her head to the side, a puzzled look spread across her features. "Tell you what; I'll throw in something for you to _really drink_. What do you say?"

"That is without a doubt a generous offer. However, don't you agreethat you'd sink this watering hole faster than you could throw a 301 if you were to show that kind of compassion to every new customer?"

The woman laughed optimistically. "You're a funny guy. Don't worry, everyone here's regular." She, too, placed her hands on the bar, leaning over, "so how about that drink?" She looked him up and down. "Rest assured, gorgeous, I don't plan on getting you pissed out of your head so that I can grab and haul your hot, tight ass into my bedroom." A wink, "I've got a boyfriend."

"Whiskey, thank you. Just a shot," he said almost in an instant.

"Knew you'd come around," she smiled, and with that, spun around cheerily and moved to find a shot glass from the lower mantelpiece.

He was appalled. Her candid way of talking: it was something he didn't know how to properly handle. That directness. _Why? _Something flashed. Familiarity.

The glimmer, but it was more than just a glimmer; it was a tangle of experiences, a piece of past knowledge. Something he knew so well. Forgotten relics of departed memories. Offhandedness and flippancy, brusqueness, aggressiveness, and…**_A person._** _Yes, a piece of nostalgia…_ His eyes lighted up as he realized. _That's it. _And he saw an image misted up in his head again, hazy but warm, of a sturdy youth; his back turned to him; powerful shoulders, sensual plane of the back, smooth muscles flexed as he laughed. He had the same white hair, same length, same texture as his earlier vision's had. The colour white so much like his own. Then the boy's face turned to look at him, grinning: _'Right, Ve-…'_

"Oi, prissy boy over there!" a hostile voice yelled out.

The bar quietened down again, only hushed voices could be heard.

Inhaling slowly, then exhaling, he shut his eyes, trying to suppress an intensifying anger inside him. He only turned his neck to the side just enough to address the owner of the voice; he knew it was directed at him. His eyes grew wide and tense.

"Yeah, you," the coarse, horrible voice again. He wished it would just choke up and…_ahem_…

"Good evening," he said. He thought it would be politer to shift his body around so that he could see this jester more fully.

He saw enough. A thug it seemed, no more than 40, brawny and evidently all boozed out, stood there, just a couple of metres in front of him. The guy's finger pointed floppily at him, his knees somewhat buckled to steady and support, his back was slightly bent backward. The mature face distorted. It was obvious that he wasn't too happy. Right behind him stood 2 men, both looked like they had a similar number of years behind them.

"I've got this, guys," one arm stretched out as if to signal dismissal. "Why don't you go back to the circus, eh, pussy?" a challenging tone towards him.

_Just a self-serving fool_. He smirked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, you need to grow a penis, you pussy!"

This, he arched an eye-brow at. Despite the fact that there were too many things that his brain devoid about himself, he had a male sex appendage alright, this much he was sure of. "And this is coming from you, is it?"

The older man looked shocked. But he recovered himself with amazing swiftness, laughing haughtily.

"Ah, here you go," a jovial female voice came from behindhis back, behind the bar, instantly disrupting the uneasy atmosphere. Turning around, he saw the woman bartender emerging out of the storeroom, two hands held a case of numerousshot glasses.

"Joaaaanneee!" The same gruff voice addressed the bartender, the vowels in her name stressed.

"Whaaaaat!" She answered in the same manner, mocking him. "Do you always have to be so friggin' loud, Tucker!"

Tucker. He snickered. _No wonder the man's readily insecure._

The drunkard suddenly threw his glance along his direction, his eyes flaring.

"Lovely, lovely name. It's… Out of the ordinary!" His face mocked a perfect enthralled expression as he spoke.

Joanne snorted. He was not aware of the spectators since the time when he first walked in. But now, a flood of subdued chuckles encircled around him, guilt-ridden faces in humour on all sides, some just stared, concerned about the outcome. Both of Tucker's friends struggled to conceal their amusement, and ended up with a subtle grin, their lips bit down.

"I'll deal with you later, boy."

"No, you get to deal with **no one** to-night! I'm tired of you causing riots in my bar! You shut it right now, or I won't have your ass back in here for a week!"

"But, sweetie, you know this place is my second home! You could blind-fold me and I'd still know where to pick out every liqueur!"

"That supposed to be a good thing?" an annoyed mutter from her. Then, she raised her voice back up, "yeah, sit it back down and leave him alone,else it'll be thrown out outta here faster than you know it!"

"Sweet-bottom, is that any way to treat your boyfriend?" A gasp followed. He remembered the reason for him to cause such a scene suddenly, "But that runt! He was eyeing your every inch; he was gawking til I thought his eyes would pop out from his nasty lil' sockets! And I always keep telling you to keep the shot-glasses on the upper shelf!" It seemed that Tucker was now in a blind rage. "When you bent over, he didn't blink once!"

This drew exaggerated gasps from the crowd, as if to say: "Oh no, you didn't!"

_What! _

"What!" she exclaimed."Don't be ridiculous. There's only a perfect gentleman standing there."

A glimmer once more. _Hmm?_

So, apparently he was staring at a bartender's ass while she bent over to get something? It must've been when he had his mind overwhelmed in that prior thought. The almost surreal spell.

"Before you went to get more glasses, his eyes were plastered on your ass! Is that how a gentleman would act? Hmmm? He's just a fucking twerp!"

Clear liquid spilled from a shot-glass as she slammed it down on the bar. "I'm warning you, Tuck. Now. Sit."

"I'm not some dog that you can just boss round!" Alcohol swamping his every vein, poisoning sane reasons in its course, deluded the mind. "I'll bring this shithead down, and you're gonna watch, like a good girl should," the man named Tucker gestured his index finger to his girlfriend drunkenly.

Joanne was about to turn to the storeroom when someone grabbed her arm and held onto it firmly. Her face looked as if in deep distress. She spun around to see her arm's captive, her mouth twitched slightly. She stilled when she saw the face before her, a smirk unfolded on her face then. "Heh, I was just gonna go introduce my new pal, Remington, to my mansince Rossi resigned." Her eyes darted as she tried to read his stoical countenance. "Just don't mind him. He's hammered senseless."

_Senseless_

He released her limb. "Don't bother." Then he reached for that damned shot-glass on the bar, staring into the clear umber liquid. In one fluid motion, he brought the container to his lips, he closed his eyes. He knocked it back in one swig. "Leave this matter to me."

"Ooh, is somebody up for a beating then?" Left, right, Tucker stretched his neck several timesto crack knots out. His gruff, horrible voice then spoke, "you might want to summon your freak-ass monster soldiers out then, General Wacko." The older man proceeded to ball up a fist, punching it into the other palm repeatedly. He ran his eyes disdainfully down the long blue trench coat, taking in all the majestic garments.

The emptylittle shot-glass was still clasped in his hand. A devilish grin smeared his face. Suddenly, his eyes widened. Pieces of glass shot up as if in a vigorous explosion. Transparent materials bursting out like a minute firework; they caught light like tiny embers, then glistened like a rain of diamond grains, smashing into the floor finally. Blood sprayed out from his right hand, a deep red pool formed on the ground immediately, drawing several yelps and screams from the mass of customers. Some stared in disbelief. Joanne cursed loudly, but then met his reassuring gaze. It didn't hurt that much at all.

"Hey, Tuck. I think we have better things to do. Don't you?" one of Tucker's friends spoke up shakily. "Like, not in here?"

The man being addressed chuckled nervously, "Oh, so we have a sadist here, eh? Don't worry, I'll promise to bring him lotsa pain in that case." He turned back to face the challenger, "you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I'm afraid you've already broken your promise," he continued to grin; his eyes were piercing, flaring with excitement. Sadistic pleasure. His lips stretched out into a flawlessly wicked sneer. This was just what he needed. An avid passion raged in his blood, his every vein; and he loved it, he loved this feeling so indescribably. He always had.

"Already broken? What?" anxious, the older man carried on laughing, "man, you're talking shi---

There was an azure hazy rush and a dash of sound. A loud crash, followed by a loud groan. Then there was the familiar blue coat's tails, unhurriedly fluttering down to settle on the floor soundlessly, by its owner's boots. Nobody sure what happened; not a single one of them did not gape at the sight of a striking young man, satisfaction draped his face, stood over an unconscious Tucker; stunned, no one could even manage to utter a sound. One of his knee-high leather boots rested beside the knocked-out brute.

"Rest assured. He has not departed from you."

Stillness conquered his face now, the fervour inside quiet. Towering over his fallen prey; casting the eyes down at its motionless form, he was an embodiment of feline grace. His gaze passed faces surrounding him; they were a safe distance away. He couldn't see Joanne, but he knew her eyes must be darting from him to Tucker, and then back again, and wide with disbelief and bewilderment. The crowd looked as if it had increased in size, probably because now all of them weregathered together to witness this spectacle. Stiff and lifeless they all seemed to him, frozen like crown statues. They looked deviant to him with all the colours of their forms motionless, a grossly unnatural sight.

His hands were limp against his body. He felt something different. Lifting his right palm up to his face slowly, his eyes widened; only dry blood still clung to the flesh, any tore skin absolutely no where to be found; reddish-umber, that was the only remnants of fresh blood. He flipped his hand over. Still nothing, no signs of any considerable injuries, of deep gashes. Now it was his turn to be rendered utterly speechless. _Unnatural_.

All of a sudden, he spun his body to meet the bar, where Joanne stood flabbergasted behind it. The glimmer. The puddle of blood was fresh even now, and transfixing, its redness seemed to be emitting some sort of radiance. _Something…_ A sheer black boot had taken resident beside the puddle. The other, slung from a leg that crossed the one resting on the ground; the owner was slumped on a stool, back to the body of the bar, concealed eyes seemed to stare down on the floor in his direction, both elbows relaxed on the cool surface of the bar. Long red coat.His head was hung low, a wide grin began to unfold behind the unkempt white hair. _White hair. _Then this new stranger leisurely raised his head up, his chin up high; harsh eyes stared straight up at him.

"So, it's true what they say… The Devil never really dies. Does he, Vergil?"

-

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Ok, first ever fic done! Well, the story isnt completed, obviously, but yay! My first piece of writing on the net!Forgive me if there were silly mistakes!Anyway, drop me a review -googly eyes-please! Come on, you know you want to, so I would have fresh and tinkly motivation to continue it, heeheehee, you lot are my motivation -sniff-. I promise the next one wont be as long...Hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Go back to Hell

Unspoken

Chapter 2: Go back to Hell

I wanted you all to hear Dante's side of the story, it's a bit confusing in places, but that all adds to the state Dante's in So don't flame me about it! lol. Ok, Dante first person account, I tried to cut down the colourful words that he might use in the game, I don't think I accomplished that…But anyway let me know lol if you prefer a gutter-mouth Dante.

In this chapter, if the first paragraph looks familiar to you, it's because I was heavily inspired by 'Passenger' of 'Deftones' when writing it, I felt that it would fit Dante like a gloooove. Give it a listen

Right, I have to warn you, Dante is a bit of a meanie in this one…

-

-

Chromes, glass, mirror, and steering wheel; I'm a passenger. Breathless, spent. But I still need more… Roll that window down, who cares what's out there; let the lucky witnesses watch. Take me round again; take me to that sweet edge. Let the jealous air in. We'll be rushing by, nobody can catch up with us, we won't care. I won't care. We'll speed away. But roll that damned window down…Sweet Jesus… It doesn't matter anymore… We're racing by again. Now to calm me, this time, drive faster. Your hand print is on that misted window, trailing down, long transparent tracks left behind. Drive faster. Jagged breaths. Don't pull over. It's all hazy and fast, a delightful blur. Drive me home and then back again. Fuck…Don't pull over. It's all hazy. Here I lay, breathless, still. Don't let me go yet. Take me to the edge again. Take me to where I'll forget.

"Yeah, see ya 'round." I turn, heading towards my own place.

"Wait!" she calls.

Her engine's started, drive away already…

"Yes?"

"I want a number."

"…My phone broke. See ya 'round."

That said, I flash my oh-so-heart-throbbing grin at her. Seriously, works every damn time. Before I turn away again, I see her awestruck look in the corner of my eye - man, makes even me hate myself; I'm one freakin' hot motherfucker.

-

Yeah, that's gotta be my all time low. I knew her for like, what, 5 minutes? I felt the need to do it. It was so strong, that if I didn't do it I felt I would go crazy, I don't know why. Everything is just a grand rush when I do it. A distraction. A way to get it outta my system. I think I'm way overdoing it, I don't know when to stop - I don't know the meaning of the word 'enough'. Sex needs no reason, screwing somebody doesn't need emotions. I know I'm already a crazy motherfucker, but I'm talking about somebody-strap-me-down crazy; as if everything inside me would surface, would erupt in a big, fat breakdown. I'm crazy anyway. But I'm even more crazy now. Everything makes no sense.

And don't we all agree on that? That there was no-one insane enough that would want to step a foot inside that monster of a tower - the portal to the demonic world, is it? Temen-ni-gru, huh? If you ask me, that doesn't sound too scary. Creepy interior design, though; man, they oughtta have fired the fool in charge! But the monsters…Yeaaaah… The demons that swarmed the place, shitloads of them! I was mad, hysterical, I just love that drive I get when a crank up a demon slaughterfest! The exhilaration, the rush! The thrill in destroying, the anticipation of what you'll be thrown in next, I believe the word is risk; I get a sweet kick in the face of danger. Kiss the gun good night; BANG, what a shame, you weren't my type. I wasn't afraid. It's been fun. You could say it's been interesting. Oh yeah, I still had to pay for my shop's repairs by the way, I'm so friggin' poor now! Demons… But whatever. You win some, you lose some. But I just happened to have lost a lot that day. A great deal of loss.

The world is fucked up. It meant nothing to me, I didn't give a rat's ass at first. But recently, I've been thinking up all these messed-up thoughts… I kill demons, right? Not men, demons - I save lives, am I just being too self-serving to think that? To think that I kill those demons to let the innocents live; to think that it's not just my own twisted pleasure to kill, to lose myself while all that blood drowns every of my other senses out: except for that sweet, hot, throbbing desire to kill, to slaughter. How I live for it! Go crazy for it! And demons, not humans- not mortals, just happen to be my convenient victims, my outlet. I thought I was doing people a big favour. But, what if there were no demons left on this earth? What then?

After all, demon blood flows through my veins, damning blood, evil runs in my father's heritage. I could easily turn a raving psycho, wrecking everything without a care in the world. I would be no worse than those fucking muggers, rapists, murderers, the Government; the Inland Revenue… Why not? It would make perfect sense to hunt down every damn face on this earth - cuz evil has always existed, polluted the human race, and so in the core of it would be me, of evil, wiping everything out. But the world's saviour I would be. Damn confusing, isn't it? Fucked up, right? It wouldn't be wrong, but then again, it wouldn't seem right either. It just sounds too, heartless…too cruel.

Ah, and there it goes again. Lately, all that I've been able to think about is something like that; I'm going insane for sure! Something, a part of me is missing, some sort of balance. How corny, I know. But no jokes, I'm a nutcase with it gone! I don't make sense without it. Hey, bro, is this what drove you mad as well? Did these cuckoo thoughts keep hammerin' into your brain when you were away for that whole year? Over and over and over again, it kept playing, didn't it? Did it grow bigger and bigger, and then suddenly it just felt like you had to fucking kid yourself that it could become real, that you had to make it real? Am I right? Why do I keep thinking about this lately? Do I feel like I have to justify what you did or something? Why? It doesn't even matter now anyway, now that you're in hell. Literally. So why then?

This is crazy. My head hurts. Whatever, I'm calling it a night.

-

I sit up on my bed. Man, I'm panting like crazy. Every time. Every fucking night. That goddamn dream. Just like when it happened, that dream, so real: of the massive Moon, the greyish blue clouds, the rain; of us going at it like two madmen - handsome, of-course, but mad, nonetheless. I could see every swing of a sword, feel my own exhaustion, hear the jagged breaths, and even feel the rain! And the thrill of it! How real is that! I've never had dreams as real as these before apart from…well… you don't really want to know about those dreams…But, whatever floats your boat, winkwink. So anyway, this is where it gets real creepy – out of nowhere I get that fucking katana stabbed into my chest. Dude, I know that already happened, but do I need to keep dreaming about it every night? Not exactly uplifting is it, dreaming about how you got your ass kicked by your dead brother. Oh yeah, there's another thing, too, the pain! Sure, I don't mind feeling the rain, I like rains, but feeling yourself stabbed by a 30 something- inch sword hurts. …Whoa there… Is it just me or I phrased that one wrong? And referred to my own dead brother of all people…Goddammit, as if I haven't gone mad enough already.

-

Hey, that's one big Moon. Just like that night – there's no stars, no haze. I'm goddamn sick of Moons, though. It's not far form my place to Bull's Eye, only a couple of blocks away. I gaze now in its direction, staring straight ahead, not registering the rubbles, and the faults on the street, on buildings on either side of me that I know are there. Quite a rough neighbourhood, this is. But everyone knows me, obviously. I don't know how many I'll score tonight, that is, without going to Love Planet; now, all the girls there** know** me. So why don't I just go to Love Planet and let loose then, you ask? Well, I enjoy the chase, you know, of just teasing them and then waiting for them to finally succumb to you. And score, how they always do! How both fields are always ready to catch my balls! No pun intended, honest…

"Oh my god!"

I stop in my track. I swear I've heard that voice before.

"Dante…right? Don't tell me you forgot me already! It was only yesterday…"

Oh. I turn around to face a voluptuous brunette. "'Cuz not, babe. Ruby, that's one pretty name," I smile.

She giggles, "you're so sweet!" Please, too easy. Then she moves towards me as if to whisper something into my ear, she grips my shoulders, but she stops while about to speak, looking up to the sky instead, "Oh my god! Tonight's Moon is like, so pretty!"

I flinch, but not because of her grating voice.

"So…," still holding tight, her face close to mine now, she speaks in a low, inviting tone of voice, "The love hotel, or the car? But like, wouldn't it be sooo pretty to fuck under tonight's moonlight?"

Man, that's what I call a fast woman. Somehow though, I feel suddenly put off , that's so weird…I'm always up for a shag, especially with hot, easy babes.

"Love Planet, if I had to." I don't know what's come over me. I sound like I'm turning down sex? Well, that's a switch.

"If you had to? What's up? But, everyone says what a manwhore you are though." Still clinging to my shoulders, she laughs. I raise an eyebrow; does she think she's being funny or something? That term just doesn't do me any justice, if anything, I'd prefer to be called a super lover. "Come on, Dante, I'll even pay for the room."

-

I don't know when to stop, to recognise my limit: I don't like to believe I have a limit. We walk through Bull's Eye together. I wave at Joanne and her crazy boyfriend Tucker as I pass them, not many customers are here yet, only a few familiar faces, I wave at them, too; it's still way early. Once through, in the dim, passion-red lights of Love Planet, I sneak up the stairs, leaving Ruby to deal with the receptionist. I just don't want to get swarmed tonight. I don't think I even want to be here.

-

Oh, I have played this melody too many times. It's all lagged out now; dragging on and on and on, just to be repeated again. I look down at her face, the same expression I've seen a million times over, on countless of faces – of ecstasy and submission, complete submission. She moans... What the fuck...? I'm staring at HIM now. I'm staring down at HIS face as it's completely taken over hers. What the fuck! I think I flinch. The last face of my kin, of the name Sparda, that same damned apathetic and guarded expression as it plunged into the unknown. My head hurts. I get off of her completely, ignoring her confused words. Who cares? There's a whiskey bottle on the table. I'm bored of this song anyway.

"What the fuck, Dante? Why are you turning a frigid all of a sudden!"

The umber liquid looks hypnotising as it flows into my glass, glittering like tiny stars on its path in the near darkness. I find what she said amusing.

"Come back and finish off what you started, you pussy!"

"Bet you wouldn't mind that as well…" I snub. She looks every bit confused, and maybe angry, I don't know. I just love it when people are wound up, especially so when it's by me. "But, whatever. I'm so outta here"

"What's the matter? Did your teeny-weeny suddenly go limp?"

I put the glass down and start putting on my leather trousers. This girl is so annoying.

"You know for a fact that it's not fucking teeny, bitch. Wasn't it your mouth that tried to pleasure it just minutes ago?" I get a kick out of the look she's making right now. "And secondly, you've got eyes. Despite the fact that you've also got brain defect so it might not register, but look anyway, ok?" I point at my swollen bit under the fabric. Man, this bitch just does not deserve it.

"Whatever, faggot," she spits, still lying on the king-sized bed.

I raise my eyebrow. "What? You think you're so hot that every guy is gonna drop dead for those full of shit, dull brains of yours?"

Oh my lord, what a friggin' drag! I down the whiskey, then slam the glass down. Snore. This girl is going to put me to sleep at this rate. I go to grab my amulet on the table, what the hell? It's flashing. I put it around my neck anyway. I hurry over to my coat. This same coat that…

"You grey-haired son of a bitch! I should've never picked a fucking frigid schizo like you! What a mistake!"

Ditto! God, are all women's shrieks this irritating? I got nothing from this slut. Nothing. Its empty stench stinks the room.

"It's silver. You blind as well?" I chuckle. "You know what? Whatever. You just bore me, that's all," Shrugging, I turn to the door with my red coat slung on one shoulder, after seeing her hurt but crazy furious face. I think she was trembling. "I'll see your ass face around." With the door opened a crack, I feel a need to flash my grin at her one last time, "Whore."

I slam the door shut. And after I casually take my second step, I hear muffled trashing about, and a very, and I'll emphasize, VERY, loud shriek. A finger flies up to block the sound off my ear in reflex, my face in a grimace. I think she was a little mad, this is so great. Slut. Stopping dead in my track, I suddenly remember the amulet; why was it flashing?

-

I think I grin all the way to the lower floor, amused at what tonight threw in my face, ignoring the flock of strippers that gather by the stairs. Heading straight for the door to Bull's Eye, without even looking at them, I walk pass and put one hand up as if to wave at them. From behind me, I can hear disappointed groans. Sorry, girls, not in the mood for an orgy.

I fling the double door open with both hands, and whoa! Sounds like Joanne and Tucker are at it again. They are hands-down the funniest couple I know. Their arguments are legend! Well, I'm taking front row seat on this one, this should keep me occupied for a while before I'd have to…Who's that dude standing by the bar? My amulet's stopped going crazy now. Damn, I can't see that well with all these big heads in front of me! They seem to be forming a circle around those 3, is that guy in the middle of this argument? I hope for his sake he didn't stare at Joanne's ass… Man, seriously, why are there so many tall heads tonight? Guess I'll just peak through this little ga---

Words don't even begin to describe how I feel. I don't really know, but I think I'm walking around the crowd, coming to a stop near the edge of it, and the bar is just over there, just a little to my right. But I sink now, into the shadow of a pillar nearby. Bullshit is all this puts into my head. That face, that get- up, that expression; the air about that smug bastard, tell me it isn't him. Please tell me it's him. It's taking everything I've got to resist myself from stampeding over and punching his lights out. It's my turn to tremble now, tremble from the rage inside me, from the sorrow, the anger, the joy, relieved; from the pain I feel every night. The nerve of that dickwad, turning me all mushy like that. But how is this possible? Surely, it can't be… Ohhh, I see he still has that speed of his, even with falling from a cliff to hell and all.

Stunned, maybe disbelieving, I walk over to the bar, not wanting to believe it's him. Don't I now? Nobody moved an inch. Nobody even noticed me, well that's a first. I need to take a closer look at him. Told you, the Hunter Moon is out to get me. My eyes taking in the sight of his back, the broad shoulders, the strong legs - body the exact copy of my own. My knees go weak. Weird, that's never happened before. I slump on one of the stools, and then noticing instantly a puddle of blood beside my boot. Hm, is that his blood? Red and shimmering, it must be. My head hurts. Something wells up in my eyes. I look down at the floor and wipe it away with my arm. He doesn't deserve it. I feel him turning around now. Don't look at me.

The rage takes over again. I think that I'm saying something even my head doesn't understand to him, something about the Devil, something about him. And I glare at him: his face of perfect shock.

-

-

I know I ramble on alot, but don't worry, I got something real good planned for the next chap. You know what to do:p Leave me a review, tell me what you think. Do it, or Dante will be breaking down like a widdle pansy in the next chapter lol.


	3. Trespasser

Unspeakable

Chapter 3: Trespasser

Hey everyone! Phew. When I finished my first draft it was a little more than a 1000 words, what the hell happened? Lol. You should know I ramble, and go crazy on describing feelings and thoughts even though sometimes I'm just hating to go detailed on any-bloody-thing. XD . Makes no sense, I know. Anyway thank you for all the reviews! Chrome, Lina and Cimmerian Sorceress for requesting this update, I hope I didn't take too long, and enjoy it, cuz tis for you especially, and for all you reviewers' kind words :-)

I chose the name 'Trespasser' because, well, it's kinda confusing, it has more than just the one connotation, but read on and see what I mean!

-

-

"Am I an acquaintance of yours?"

He asked earnestly, face of the familiar impassiveness. Nevertheless, he was taken aback – there was no doubt in his mind, this was the boy in his vision…

Amazed was Dante,

"what the hell! Is that supposed to be another one of your lame, sorry attempts at humour!" Having recovered, he was grinning and shaking his head, disbelieving. What a dickhead! What was wrong with his brain! Did the psycho think pretending not to know him would make it all ok? Dante felt like his chest would rupture, something inside screaming desperately to break out. He thought that the big vein in his neck was throbbing, his fists were definitely shaking. How could he, Vergil, his own twin, how could he do this, everything?

It was puzzling, the natural infallible cool that he came to know he possessed was failing him. It had something to do with this boy. "Do I know you?" His expression darkened. He didn't know why he had to retort. He must have known him before, but he just could not remember anything, except for…

"Is that what you really want, Vergil?" A sudden loud bang was heard. Dante stood up, the stool he'd been sitting on only an instant before kicked into the bar. He laughed uncontrollably. "Really, does it make your sad little life happy?" He stared at Vergil, his smile was full of resentment, bitter, a trace of melancholy, "if you want to fuck around," his head was lowered now, white hair concealing his eyes, "if you want to play this schizo or whatever charade," a roar erupted as he threw his head back, his eyes bulging out with rage, "THEN GO BACK TO YOUR FILTHY HELL HOLE WHERE YOU BELONG WITH ALL THOSE LITTLE DEAD SHITS!"

-

Dante ran outside. He thought that he heard a voice called out after him, probably Joanne's, but he wasn't sure, he couldn't care. The outburst a second ago felt somewhat satisfying. Dante realised that he must've resembled a sulking child surely, stomping to his room in a foul strop. But it was worse than that, a lot worse. It wasn't exactly like when they were kids, where Vergil would just indifferently break his toys and that was that. He couldn't just forgive and forget this time. So why the hell was he, Dante, running away?

The only thing he could hear was his boots hammering on the ground, it sounded strangely shrill to him in this turbulent silence, he wanted it so badly to shut up. His chest was heavy, no wait, it was light: light as if it had no vigour left, to drive him on, but heavy because of all the mess and muddle weighing it down; a knot of some sort, a big one at that. And it was taking a lot out of him to drag it along, to keep going and not be left frozen up like a dumb statue in that conflicting moment of when he saw Vergil. He didn't like this feeling.

Rushing to his apartment along 66 Avenue, he wasn't even aware of the drizzling of rain. The illuminance from the street lights appeared a blur of white flashes. With this hasty speed, it was not long when he reached an area that was not lit up by anything, save for a few flickering lights from broken streetlamps, sounds of the failing bulbs were heard as short, repetitive hums, this was a block away from his apartment. The ground was speckled with a few wet, dark marks. The near encompassing darkness was solace, it was soothing, this black nothingness, it made him feel somewhat better. Amidst the brief moment of stillness, unexpectedly, he felt a droplet of water against his cheek. Slowly bringing his fingertips up to feel it: he didn't want to look up to the night sky, but with the mind numb, his head moved as if out of its own volition; thin sheets of rainwater glistened, shimmering silver, as the brilliant glow of tonight's Moon illuminated them, like dashes of Mercury they looked, blissfully transfixing, and eerie. Dante sprinted the rest of the way home

-

Meanwhile, back inside Bull's Eye, an annoyed but uneasy look was draped on Vergil's face as all eyes glued onto him yet again. He had to admit, the boy's reaction had stunned him. What was it that he did to make him so angry? Sad? He wanted so desperately to find out. To understand why he felt this strange familiarity. To know the reason for this warm nostalgia, yes, he wanted to ask him very much, he would ask him. That boy stood for the only relics of the forgotten memories, departed…long lost, dead; all these such sad words. Forlornness. Outside, inexplicably sad feelings were cast onto him by the morbid Moon, and still they lingered on him like a dark cloud above his head. Feeling incomplete, yearning. He needed to know, like he had needed to drink, that horrid yet blessed thirst now the avid yearning for the answers to these salient questions, and in these questions, bewildering intimacy overwhelmed him, flowing wildly and made his heart pound with anticipation. He needed him.

"Well? Aren't you gonna go after him?" Joanne's voice was full of concern. She smiled and shook her head when their eyes met. "I've never seen Dante like that. Whatever you did, you sure did it well." At that point, she looked around the bar, and then gestured with her head to the unconscious Tucker with her eyes on his friends. They quickly scurried over to him.

Clapping her hands together several times to gain everyone's attention, she shouted with a loud, clear voice, "Right, peeps, I think we've had enough excitement for tonight. But, come back tomorrow and you might get to see Tuck sporting a stylishly unrecognisable new mug."

It seemed they were all fond of her, Joanne, they respected her. There was a nice round of subdued laughter, a cacophony of noises low and high, a "go easy on him, Jo.", and a "Tucker's a lucky man." could be heard.

"Joanne, he was so incomplete until he married you. Now he's finished."

"That was low, Bruce. You ripped it off."

Most used the main door, the one that he had used to come in, but a few others, mostly men, chose another door, a wooden door with a striking pink sign above it at the other end of the saloon, he could make out what it said. As they were going out, some customers gave him a hesitant backward glance. The rest just pretended not to have seen him before, passing by him and laughing to each other cheerfully. Joanne smiled and acknowledged their words all the while they were leaving, until, slowly, all of them left. Tucker lay on one of the tables, his friends had left him there.

"What the hell are you still standing around here for!" She mocked an indignant tone and looked exasperated. "Go and sort out your little spat. Get out of my bar already!" Her laughter followed.

As if he had anywhere else to go anyway. Dante, was it? He doubted though, that Dante was going to welcome his enquiries with open arms… He was looking at her, it was almost indiscernible but the corners of his mouth rose upward into a hint of a smile. Tucker was just over there, unconscious, he felt like he should say something about Tucker, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Without warning, he then sped over to the door.

"There was this day, he said he'd lost something."

He stopped to listen.

"Haha, heck, he was like a Morrissey double. You know, the look he had when he came in tonight was one and the same. "

"..."

"Vergil, is it? You're his—"

But he was already gone.

"—twin." From near the bar, she looked to Tucker; the only sign to show that he was still alive and well was his soft breathing.

-

The jets of water gushing out of his shower were immensely revitalizing, and much appreciated. Dante absentmindedly watched as rivulets on the wall streamed down, merged and formed patterns with each other on their courses, leaving wet dark trails behind. Cool liquid sprayed and trickled down his well-developed body, muscles relaxing. He didn't want to let his mind wander, but somehow these cursed showers always made him. And currently, it concerned Vergil. No matter how many times he pushed the subject of his brother out of his head, they simply just kept coming back every single time to trouble him even more. It didn't matter if he was to distract himself with other thoughts; the snake would always swallow its tail, and round and round again Vergil would always come to him in its vicious circle. He let his head drop back, muscled neck taut, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted, his face met the torrential streams of water with welcome. How was it possible? Vergil was alive! He was tired of it, fed up of constantly thinking about Vergil, of these stupid emotions bugging him to no end. Warm liquid appeared from both of his closed eyes, mixed with other little streams on his face, trailing down his jaw lines and went down the drain like all the rest finally. Dante cursed. He placed his hands on the walls on either side of him, the arms were at right angles to his body; and the walls, they were hard, tingly chilliness forcing him to tense his back muscles.

Then suddenly, his head snapped back up.

Flashes.

The dream. And the thrill.

They were coming back to him in flashes.

Of sex.

Melody lagging out…

Madness, going insane.

It all flooded back.

_Dante, how could you get it so wrong? _

_Haha, funny that…_

-

They were never about him.

Never about Dante.

-

In his bedroom on the first floor, with a towel hung around his shoulders, Dante made quick work of closing the big window and the red thick curtains, banning the persistent moonlight from entering. He figured he couldn't be bothered with this anymore. The bed was situated next to a wall opposite the window. He just wanted to crash down on his bed; mmm, nice, soft double bed, feeling the cotton-like fabrics of the duvet and the bed envelop him, and unwind him into a dreamless, endless sleep. Somehow, though, Dante knew he wouldn't have it that easy. He tossed the towel to the far corner of his room without looking, and beside a table there, a chair's backrest caught it perfectly. He flicked the light switch off, and then there was only darkness. Satisfied, he dropped onto his bed; delicious, this sleepiness. The dream world was just a corner away.

Mild wind caused the curtains to move very slightly. In the middle of them was a wide slit, allowing a silver iridescent strip to manifest itself there, running in from the window, and in darkness, the room glowed with moonlight. The window was open. Dante's panting was heard. His duvet was kicked off; the only thing he wore was a pair of loose-fitting trousers, toned, moist chest exposed. A grave expression draped his face, cold sweat glistened. This was followed by a smirk, then a feral growl.

"Vergil!"

Vergil who had been watching arched a brow. Dante was dreaming. Just what the hell kind of relationship did he have with this boy, Dante? It was unexplainable but for some reason, he knew he could find Dante here. He had come to terms a little more with his extraordinary strengths now, and of-course, getting up here was easy work. It was still kind of creeping him out, though, these powers. Upon finding this place, he looked up at the window, simply staring up at it, and then all of a sudden, his body moved as if he had no more than weak control over it. He remembered one moment he felt like cutting through the air itself, a quick, cool rush against his body, and the next he found his feet on the window ledge, all of the force in his body he could muster in his fingertips, digging in dents on the building as he clung on for his dear life!

Trespassing, that was what he was doing. But he couldn't care.

He walked up steadily, the long azure coat gleamed even in the dim light. Standing just a few feet from Dante's bed now, he gazed down at its owner's countenance. The expressions were continually changing, the face so subtly animated, never staying still, never lifeless, shifting ever so slightly every few seconds. There was something about this boy; all the colors of his form looked somewhat dynamic, full of life. Surrounded only by a black shroud, the soft moonlight revealed Dante's sculptured, sensual body, and gave him an ethereal radiance. The young man named Vergil stood there, quietly enthralled. At that moment, the slumbering face seemed pained. He didn't know what it was, but, as if drawn in by some invisible strings, as if in a trance, he moved towards the sleeping form with no hesitation. And then, Dante's face softened.

Oh, how he was held spellbound. The very glimmer that had graced its presence inside him this was. Appeasing his barren, cold mind with no more than a fleeting radiance, it gave him a reason to endure, offering restful warmth; it gave him hope. But a mere glimmer it was no longer. Dizzying and intense, this was light itself, his light. Only moonlight illuminated Dante's sleeping form; blissfully dead to the world, drifting mindlessly somewhere faraway, the eyelids beautifully molded over his eyes, long lashes looked like dark points of stars, his glistening silver hair fallen, cascaded down and branched out onto the pillow. And indeed, he had such striking features, his complementing sharp nose and generous, skillfully shaped mouth, and magnificent bone-structure were passive, softened, as the disdain and indignation Vergil had seen earlier had dissolved completely as if they were never meant to spoil this face. This beautiful face. How he was so deeply entranced with this boy, Dante. For all he was worth, he was absorbed, completely taken in by everything about him, it was madness. And he leaned closer now; so vastly magnetizing, this quiescent form below him; over the bed, his face hovered above Dante's, a knee finding comfort on the soft material of the bed. Two hands were placed on either side of Dante's face, on the pillow, his weight resting on both of his arms.

Right now, he could care less for the foreboding that was starting to creep into his mind. He forgot all about what he wanted to ask Dante, just gazing down at this slumbering face… Longing. Missing this warmth. Was he forlorn of this? Was this what he was longing for? Dante…Dante was panting loudly now.

Without warning, his eyes snapped open, he clutched at his own chest. For a long moment, Dante just lay there, looking up at Vergil, catching up with his breath, the right hand was still lingering on his chest. Vergil was very still above him. Then, as though he'd only just realized, Dante's eyes grew wide, his lips parted as if to utter something but nothing came out.

It must've affected him, Vergil's calm stoicism, because now Dante's eyes relaxed, softly gazing into Vergil's own. Dante slowly lifted one hand up and touched Vergil's face, gently; his fingertips felt the smooth and firm skin of his brother, a sensation long forgotten. But then, the touch turned rough abruptly: Dante's expression changed; he grabbed hard at that side of Vergil's now alert face and threw it face-down on the bed, then his hand moved up to push the back of Vergil's head down as he rolled onto his side, using one of his knees to force himself upright, he straddled the back of his brother. Tensing his muscles, Dante didn't let go of the hand pushing Vergil's face down on the crumpled bed.

Dante smirked, "Hmm, I'll say a lot has happened to you, alright. Now, not only you're an official moron of the century, you've turned into a low-life burglar, too?" He bent down a little and spoke near Vergil's left ear. "I really didn't appreciate you breaking into my room, you know." Dante was now an inch away from Vergil's ear. He lowered his voice as he grazed the sensitive flesh, "Was there anything in particular that took your fancy up here?" He exerted more force into the arm holding down the rear of Vergil's head.

Despite the fact that Dante could kill him at any second and that he was at his mercy, Vergil chose to remain motionless, there was no struggling of any kind on his part.

Dante raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Verge, you're not gonna struggle?" He brought his face down so that it was nearly level with his brother's. "Ohhhh. You don't think that I have the guts to kill you. Isn't that right?" Pulling Vergil's head up by roughly yanking at a mass of silver hair above his forehead, Dante twisted his brother's face with that hand to directly look at him. Their faces were at an intimate distance. "News flash, I do. After all, YOU TRIED TO KILL ME, REMEMBER!" Dante's face was all warped with anger. Then he laughed like a maniac, "yeah, I almost forgot; you tried but then you failed," he grinned.

"I don't remember." Vergil did not look one bit fazed. Piercing eyes calmly inspected Dante.

_Bullshit._ _When the hell are you gonna let this act go? _Still smirking, Dante stared hard into Vergil's eyes.

He felt a little mischievous now. Dante tilted his own face so that it was almost at right angle to his brother's, their faces now even closer. Looking up at Vergil, silvery blue orbs glinted once in the moonlight, the shadows on Dante's face made him look all the more menacing. His tone was playful when he spoke:

"Then let's play a game to jog your memory."

-

-

The endings to my chapters are so not satisfying, haha. I've started chapter 4; there are 2 ways I can go from there…choices, choices!

Did you enjoy that? It always makes me happy to recieve feedbacks,lol, let me know what you think! Til next chapter :-)


	4. Expectation

Unspeakable

Chapter 4 - Expectation

-

#She's aliveeeeeeeeee! LOL. Hello! I finished this well past morning glory so forgive my cuckoo-ness. It's been, what, 4 months? 4 months?!!! I bet nobody reads DMC fics anymore… I'm so sooooorry. Life got more hectic, heart got problems, EMO, LoL, I felt the strong urge to write 3 days ago, we are on xmas break after all, woot! Anyway, this might seem a little weird, at the end of it you might be like WTF?! But variety can do you good, people : ) Anyhow, I personally don't think it's that fed up at all. And I'm gonna shut up before I give anything away… Enjoy! Or at least try…lol.

Oh yeah, lemoness, as in like, mano a mano? Don't like it, get out, don't embarrass yourself.

Vergil's First Person Account.#

-

-

I looked intently at his face. As you would expect, this was a position which was rather disadvantageous on my part. My back was straddled, my head immobilized; I had no idea that this boy, a captivating adolescent with a deviously angelic face, and body like it was carved out by the masters of antiquity, could possess such a demonic strength. I had been deceived. Lured. Seduced.

What a mystery! For what seemed like an eternity, I had been drifting in a world that had lost all of its lustre, when, in reality, I only remembered tonight's Moon; colours were lifeless streams of insipid tumult. I knew of nothing, and with its excruciating layer, it was only the nothingness that embraced me wholeheartedly, no-one else would.

Memories abandoned their owner. I wanted to believe in the revelations: the glimmer, then, the light: desperately hoping that they weren't just illusions, that perhaps it had in fact been too late for me, the shadows of insanity casting on me and perhaps I was just a madman. But I could not entertain that notion anymore than I could comprehend the bond I felt with him. Even when his eyes looked harshly in my direction, his voice sounded wicked, gestures threatening, I could not bring myself to despise him. Why? Try as I best could, I could comprehend the intimacy I felt with him not, this Dante. It was inexplicable.

But I thought…No, rather, I saw. I saw that he could be the one who would acknowledge me, and give back the colours and wonders of the world to my eyes. This melancholy dullness would be no more and I would be alive again, the memories that were forgotten would live again. Show me, show me what I did not know. Let me see it.

I longed for it.

-

A force surged inside my blood so suddenly at that moment. So rapid was the rush that I could have ignored it had it not been for the intensity that accompanied. I still did not have the answer to my question as I broke free from Dante's hold, saw his utterly surprised face as I span around and gazed up at him directly.

"…the fuck?" the boy growled, eye brows gathered in an exasperated manner.

He was still on top, but I had trapped one of his hands, the hand that he used with the intent to cause me asphyxia when he tried to drive my head through the bed, with my own. I clutched his hand tightly, our arms extended to my right, my muscles taut. I felt surprised that my vigour could rival his.

The next second we were wrestling. The duvet covering the bed was a dark sea, with creases and folds as disorderly waves littered upon its body, moving and changing shapes ever so abruptly while we writhed. And we struggled, and hit, then struggled. The polyphonic staccato of our heavy breathing filled this silent night, along with his constant cursing. Dante panted, his silver hair wild, the intensity of the battle forced him to roll onto his side - I forced him. It was me who smashed his face with my free hand and threw him down so that now we were struggling while facing one another on the same level. He kneed my stomach. Dante was topless but my clothes were in disarray, my long jacket pulled down, perhaps even torn.

There was an immense dynamic as I strike and was strike, as we rolled around and brawled; I felt it, it was almost inhuman…

I chuckled under my breath, through what felt like swollen lips, though I could not sense the pain in them anymore. Even when Dante presented a particularly lethal punch, I would only suffer sharp pain for a sliver of a second, like a stinging needle. And even though occasionally a punch of mine seemed fatal, I could only elicit a grunt from him. As we thrashed about, he groaned with some difficulty, "shit, Vergil, what the hell are you playing at?"

The body was controlling me, it commanded that I retaliate every time. The closer we were the more that tender nostalgia shrouded me, the more his malice baffled me: the intense the intimacy. I had to know, it had eluded me for what felt like my whole life.

-

We fell. On the carpeted floor I found myself on top of him, hands on either side of his face. I at once used this opportunity to capture his wrists and pinned them above his head with both my hands, as to not invite any surprise attack with an opening. I bestride him. He appeared irritated through the indifference he shielded himself with, gasping for air. I eyed his face intently, my head tilted. The turquoise of his eyes, his lean nose, the full mouth, of-course, I had known them before, his lips… I must've cut his lips because there was blood remaining on their left corner, this time I was not surprised that there was no wound, or cut, or bruise. Like my own blood, which I had the privilege to witness back in Bull's Eye, his was, too, strangely transfixing: dark red liquid that emanated radiance, the glow in that richness.

"Why the hell are you staring at my lips?" He said quietly, his turquoise eyes vacant.

"Not your lips, your blood."

"MyGod," he jested, "you do remember how to talk." Hs face turned defiant and angry at this point, he spat out, "then how about telling me why the fuck you're on top of me and look about to drink my blood, vampire dickhead?"

The corners of my lips curled up. I knew that insolence. I was tired of these things, like missing pieces of a puzzle, they represented fragments of the entire memory belonging to an existence - if only I could see. As if blind, I could not place these pieces back into the incomplete jigsaw picture that was my very being, and I felt trapped. Damn God. What was this, penance?

_-_

_But if you're the light, if you're the eye-- _

-

Guide my clumsy hands to where the pieces belonged.

I didn't care anymore. Nothing else existed apart from the boy and his curious blood.

He started when I touched the red liquid on the corner of his lips with my fingers, a hand remained gripped firmly at his wrists. I felt dominating, our roles were reversed. The silver-haired boy beneath me did not struggle, the only thing that was perverse to my action was those eyes, eyes that hid a secret behind their flaring resentment. Gently running a finger along his lips, I smeared them the colour of this crimson essence that vigour and dynamism of life seemed to spring from. I let my innermost instinct overpower me.

And I licked it. From the tender flesh that was his lips. It was a secret wanting to be told: a single tear escaped from one of Dante's tightly shut eyes and streaked down his jaw line. Something cut my heart. We were beside the bed's post where moonlight could not reach us, darkness now was our solace. I planted my lips onto his smooth cheek bone and traced the watery trail of his tear. I wanted to laugh. If nothing else but this precious tear should satisfy my thirst, then only this boy could complete my existence. I kissed his closed eye, the source of his tear, then slowly moved to where his brows furrowed, as if to ease whatever kind of pain he was suffering from. With my fingers I felt his moist lips again, they demanded my own presence.

Breaking through the hot screen of his breath, I felt his mouth open, kissed him, softly at first, my lips barely brushing against his. Dante opened his eyes only to close them again, this time serenely. And our lips met again, now with passion and violence as immense as when we fought earlier tonight. He parted his mouth, my tongue delved, my free hand grasping at a side of his face. We were kissing so feverishly that it seemed as if we had longed for the other's flesh and warmth our whole lives, yearned for it, waited for it. Dante was hot like fire, his saliva was as fresh as water but his kiss made it burn, and I thrived on it, that soothing heat. We would lose our breath just to recover it again from the same air, without pulling apart, our bodies moved in accord with what Nature instilled in us. Never had my heart beat this fast tonight. I could feel his heart thumped wildly against my own, our pulses mended as one at this moment as our bodies were crushed together. And moved together. Never had joy been so close to pain.

-

But I had to pull away from him. Sitting up, panting, I wiped off the blood that was running down from my mouth in a generous stream with my forearm. Dante had bitten my tongue. I grinned, it didn't hurt much. He licked traces of my blood that lingered on his own lips and grinned back. The boy gave the impression of wanting to lap at my mouth as he propped himself up on his elbows. Click. Suddenly, god knew where it came from, I felt cold metal against my forehead. A gun.

I smirked, "you… never fail to amaze."

"Shut up."

Bang.

I stumbled back and my head fell on a bedpost. There was blood. I had a headache. Hesitantly, in awe, I brought a hand up to my forehead. Dante got up and left the room. Amidst the quietness, I heard shuffling of bare feet on concrete or other from beneath the window. It stopped after a short while, a slump followed. Another gunshot echoed throughout the night. In humid air that was an October slumber, in the midst of darkness, it was the last thing I heard before my eye lids slid shut.

-

-

Morning came so swiftly that I thought last night was only a twisted reverie. I sat up, cradling my forehead with a palm, even though it didn't ache anymore. But still I--

"Fuuck!" A familiar voice yelled out in frustration. Crash. "Oww!"

The door swung open. Dante was there, he had changed into a pair of black trousers, his silvery hair smoothed out . One of his arms was high on the doorframe to support his body, his back crouched, while the other arm tried to zip up the black boot hung from a foot that hovered above the opposite leg's ankle. "I'm so throwing these away…" he mumbled. I grinned, with unexplainable relief.

Sitting with my legs spread out on the floor, I let myself stare up at him. I had no idea what I was expecting, I held no expectation.

"You know," He walked over to a wooden coatstand by the window, his boots shuffling steadily on the floor, and grabbed a long, red leather jacket from there, he turned to glimpse my solemn face, paused "…..never mind." And with that, he swung the jacket over his left shoulder and headed back for the door with haste.

I found myself looking at his naked back instead of an empty doorway as he abruptly stopped while just about to exit, his hand clutched at the left side of the doorframe.

He signed, "I want the window that you broke last night fixed before I get back. And...," he paused again, "rent is 200 bucks a month." Then he looked back at me, and smirked impishly. Like all of his grins that had burned their impression in me, I now had this one freshly memorized inside my mind. "Miss it and I might just kill you."

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I hope to hell that people get the irony in that last quote…I'd lost all my poetic-ness by the time birds started chirping outside, lol, so if you spotted inconsistency, I'm sorry. You kinda have to have read chapters 2 and 3 to understand what could've possibly gone out inside Dante's head. Please R&R! I know I've been bad by not updating for 4 months #snifflesf# I sincerely apologise. By the way, this is not the ending : )


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